A Pycroft built this houseIn the hardest of stone,And the mortar was truly mixedWith a Pycroft's blood and bone,If another here would liveBecause of a well-lined purse,The mortar shall becomeThe buyer's lasting curse."
A Pycroft built this houseIn the hardest of stone,And the mortar was truly mixedWith a Pycroft's blood and bone,If another here would liveBecause of a well-lined purse,The mortar shall becomeThe buyer's lasting curse."
In spite of myself the labourer's talk made me pause, but I was not the son of my father for naught. The teaching of a lifetime was not to be destroyed because of an ignorant man's vain babbling, and I held to my resolution to visit the old place again that night. I therefore presently rode back, and after a hearty meal I fell asleep, from which I did not wake till sundown.
I gathered that no one asked any questions why I was there; in truth, every man seemed too much interested in the coming of the king and the changes that would be wrought in the land to trouble aught about me; so, telling the landlord that I should not be back until late, I left the inn about an hour after sundown and took a roundabout road to Pycroft. Moreover, I took good heed that I was not followed, and by an hour before midnight I had entered the dark woods that grew around the lonely house.
Now, although I had carried a brave heart during daylight, I was not able to choke down my fears in the darkness.I have been told that nature hath given me firm nerves; moreover, I can meet a danger as well as another man without shewing fear, but once within the shadow of the woods which surrounded the haunted house I confess that my heart wellnigh failed me. The stories which the labourer had related came back to me with great vividness, so that before I had come within sight of the house I seemed to be surrounded with all sorts of grinning things, some of which lured me on, while others warned me against going farther. The cracking of every twig made my heart beat faster, the twitter of a startled bird told me that I was in a domain where the devil held his revels and where spirits of darkness worked their will.
Still I determined to go forward. I was calm enough to know that on the morrow I should laugh at these fancies, and that, did they hinder me from carrying out my plans now, I should all my life accuse myself of being a poltroon. Besides, what report should I have to give to my father, the man who knew no fear and who would be ashamed of a son who believed in old wives' fables? So I set my teeth firmly together and trudged my way through the darkness, stopping every now and then to listen if any one was near.
Never shall I forget my journey along that lonely pathway, for as I look back now, it seems to mark an era in my life. But of that I must not speak now: I will tell my story in as straightforward a way as I am able, so that those who read may judge for themselves. And yet, if I felt fear, I maintain that it was no wonder, for my experiences were not those with which a man meets every day. Besides, I had but three days left my home, where I had lived an uneventful life, and now to be cast alone amidst mystery and danger was a matter of no small moment.
Presently I emerged from the woods into the open space where the woman and I had stood on the previous night. I could see the moon, but it seemed to sail in a hazy light, while around it was a great ring. Not a sound could I hear. The songs of the birds had ceased; not an insect moved its wings: all nature seemed asleep. After waiting a few moments, scarce daring to look around me, I heard a sound like that of a distant sigh; but it might have been only the night wind soughing through the treetops, or it might havebeen only my own fancy. At length I dared to look towards the house; but all was darkness, or at least so it seemed. Then I noted that I stood on a different place from that on which I had been standing when I had parted from the woman the night before, and it might be that some angle hid the window I had seen then.
I therefore crept along the brushwood until I reached the same place, and then my heart gave a great bound. There, half hidden by the tree I had climbed, was a light shining from the window.
In a minute my ghostly fears vanished. What was the meaning of it all I did not know, but I determined that I would find out before the night was over. It is true I called to mind some of the things I had read in the writings of Master Will Shakespeare, as well as passages from the Holy Scriptures, all of which spoke with certainty concerning those who possessed familiar spirits; but these influenced me not one jot at the time. The light shone from the window as it had shone the night before, and in all probability the same old man occupied the room.
I therefore went swiftly across the open space towards the tree I have spoken of, and before one might well count twenty I had climbed to the branch whereon I had aforetime rested, and so again obtained view of the chamber. This I did because I feared to seek admission without taking precautions. If others were there as well as the old man, I might have to adopt methods different from those I should make use of if he were alone. I reflected that if what the woman Katharine Harcomb had told my father were true, and that the king's marriage contract were hidden in the house, he would guard it carefully. It was of too much importance to treat lightly. What I did, therefore, must be done warily, neither must I foolishly and with youthful wilfulness be led to betray myself.
As I have said, therefore, I again climbed the tree, and obtained a view of the chamber, and ere long saw the old man seated at a table, and by the aid of a lamp was reading some scrolls, which he had spread out before him. I watched him a few moments in silence, noting the eager look upon his face, and the evident ardour with which he sought to understand the writing on the parchment before him.Presently I saw him take certain powders from a drawer, and place them in a pot, into which he also poured some liquid. This done, he placed the pot on the fire, and watched the liquid with great care.
It was at this time that I determined to seek entrance. But how? I knew that every door was securely bolted, every window barricaded. If I was to enter, therefore, it must be by strategy. If the woman had obtained admission the previous night there seemed no reason why the door could not be opened to me. But what were the means she had used? I called myself a fool for not following her, and thus learning the means she had used; but that was futile now. Wisdom after a thing has happened is generally foolishness, and so I ransacked my brains in thinking of what she must have done.
I have not set it down in these pages, but I did remember the previous night that, when the woman drew near the house, I heard a noise like the cry of a screech-owl. At the time I put it down to the night bird, but now it occurred to me that it might have been a means whereby she obtained entrance. At any rate, it could do no harm, and therefore I slid silently down the tree, and made my way to the great door, where the woman had entered.
I must confess to a fast-beating heart as I stood by the great iron-studded door. After all, I knew nothing of what I should see within the walls, and the very mystery made every nerve tingle, while there came to the eyes of my imagination pictures of many strange doings. So strong was this feeling upon me that I stood still, scarce daring to move. Then I saw in the moonlight what had escaped me in the early morning. A piece of string hung by the postern of the door. Indeed, I believe that it had not been there then. What did it mean? On closer examination I saw that it was passed through a hole in the woodwork.
Scarcely realizing what I was doing, I tugged at the piece of string, and immediately I heard a kind of clanking noise within. This, although I might have expected some such result, startled me so that I cried out almost involuntarily.
A minute later the clanking ceased, and then silence reigned again. But now that I had once tugged at the string, and no harm had happened to me, I pulled it againand then, using what powers of mimicry I had, I cried out as I had heard the screech-owl cry among the trees around my old home.
Again I listened, and this time I heard cautious footsteps. I judged then, as I know now, that the footsteps were muffled, nevertheless there was something very weird in listening to the stealthy tread of some one creeping nearer and nearer to me. A minute later I knew that some one stood at the other side of the door. I heard some one murmuring, and then another silence followed. I waited I should think a minute, but no further sound came, whereupon I again repeated the cry of the night bird. At this, I heard the clanking of chains and the shooting of bolts, as though the one within were preparing to open the door, after which there was again a moment's silence as if he hesitated.
"Are you prepared to pay the price of entrance?"
The words were uttered in a hoarse whisper, and at that time they seemed to contain some occult meaning, so that for a moment I hesitated to reply. But I summoned up my courage, and made answer also in a hoarse whisper—
"I am prepared."
Then the great door began to creak and to slowly open. Knowing how much depended on my speed of action, no sooner was the aperture between the door and its lintel a few inches wide than, putting all my strength against it, I forced it back, and found myself inside the building before he who had opened it had been able to obtain a glimpse of me.
So sudden had been my movement that I had caused the old man to stagger back, nevertheless he did not lose his footing, and when he caught sight of me, I thought I detected a desire on his part to rush through the open doorway. So, before he could take any such action, I closed the door with a loud noise—a noise which resounded through the great lonely building.
I could see that my entrance had astonished him. That he expected some one else was evident, and from the look in his eyes I knew that he had no knowledge nor suspicion as to who I was. He held a small oil lamp on the level of his head, by which means he caused its light to fall directly on my face. I saw, too, that his keen deep-set eyes rested on me as though he would read my thoughts, and I judged that he was at a loss how he should treat me.
"And so you would use your brute strength to enter the house of a lonely man, who desires only that he may seek to do the will of God," he said slowly, and I could have sworn that he was seeking to measure my strength and was calculating whether it would be wise to throw himself upon me.
I do not know why it was, but for answer I only laughed. Perhaps this was because the old man's voice had driven away the last vestige of superstitious fear.
"You are young for your trade, young master," he continued, still keeping his eyes steadily fixed on me, "and if my old eyes do not tell me falsely, you are ill fitted for it. Your face tells me that you should be an honest youth, not a roystering and lying housebreaker and highwayman. So leave me at once. I have naught of which you can robme. Gold and silver have I none. I am simply a harmless old man who seeks to spend the rest of his days in communion with his thoughts and his Maker."
"Your age hath taught you but little wisdom, if it hath taught you that I am a footpad," I said. "Neither do I seek gold or silver."
"Then what do you seek?" he asked with a snarl.
"A quiet hour with you."
I saw him glance quickly around the entrance hall of the house in which we stood, as though he feared we were not alone. Then he took a step nearer to me.
"A quiet hour, young man?"
"Ay, a quiet hour."
"I tell you this," and his voice became bitter: "If you do not leave this house—nay, nay." He stopped as if to correct himself. "A quiet hour—ay, a quiet hour, that you shall have, young master. So quiet that you shall not even know when it hath come to an end, so quiet that the spirits of the dead which haunt this house shall scarcely know when you have entered their worshipful company."
By this time I saw that he had recovered from the surprise he had experienced at my entrance. His deep-set eyes rested steadily upon me, and he spoke like one in deep thought. I therefore watched him closely, for although he was an old man, he shewed no sign of feebleness. His eyes were keen and alert, and he moved with the activity of youth.
"But why wish you this quiet hour, young master?"
"To know many things which you can tell me," I answered boldly enough, although I was anything but light hearted.
"Ay, I will tell you of many things," he said quickly, "things that you will never repeat, my son, never, never, never."
He repeated the word as I have written it down with great solemnity, and for the last time between his set teeth and with terrible intensity.
"Did you take advice from any man before you sought admission within these walls, young master?" he went on, "Did you commend your soul to your Maker? Did you bid good-bye to all you hold most dear?"
"I did not do any of these things, Father Solomon," I answered as jauntily at I could.
"Thus you show your foolishness."
"That is as may be," I made answer.
"And what do you think will be the end of this visit?" he asked, and I thought his interest was growing in me.
"The end, Father Solomon?" I replied with a laugh. "The end will be that you will tell me what I wish to know, and then we shall say good-bye."
"You are but a youth," he said solemnly. "You are yet only on the threshold of life, therefore it grieves even me that you should be cut off before your prime. And yet I see no chance of your escape. You have entered the region of the departed dead, you have lifted to your lips the goblet of which lost souls drink. Still, I would save you if I could. If you will take the oath that I shall prescribe, an oath to the Prince of Darkness who reigns here, then may I be persuaded to allow you to depart without injury."
The man made me shiver as he spoke, but I had not come hither to be frightened before my work was begun. So I summoned up all my courage, and laughed in his face.
"You laugh!" he cried angrily, "but in an hour from now you shall hear only the laughter of devils. The only words of comfort that you shall hear shall come from the lips of hell-hags, who shall drag you deeper and deeper down into the caverns of darkness."
"Have done with this, Elijah Pycroft," I said quietly, for this threat made me feel that he was uttering only gipsy cant.
He started as I mentioned his name, but still he kept up the part which I believed he was trying to play.
"Come, power of darkness, and seize him," he cried, like one invoking some distant being; "tear his soul from his body, and drag it into eternal gloom!" Then turning to me, he said in a hoarse whisper, "Listen I do you not hear them coming? Fly ere it be too late."
"Let your powers of darkness come, Elijah," I said quietly, "but I tell you this: before they come there are certain things you will have to tell me."
"What things?" he snarled. "Tell me who you are? Tell me what you want?"
"All in good time," I said confidently, for by this time I began to enjoy the situation rather than to fear it; "but before I tell you aught let me go to your workshop, Master Elijah—the chamber where you keep your grinning skulls and your witch potions. For I have a great desire to enter that chamber. Ay, you must have rare doings there! Last night you received pretty women, and to-night you receive not women, but a man with a sword and pistols in his belt. Ay, and the pistols are loaded, Master Elijah, and I am a fair marksman."
"Very well," he said after a moment's thought. "On your own head be the curse of your acts. But wait here for one moment. I will e'en go and prepare the room for your coming."
"Nay, nay, we will go together," I replied. "I love your company so much that I cannot bear the thought of your departure."
As quietly as one could think, he had blown out the light, and I heard him rush away into the darkness. Had I hesitated a moment I should have lost him, but a ray of moonlight having penetrated the place, I was able to follow his movements. I caught him by the arm and held him fast.
"Unhand me, or you shall die!" he cried.
I held him at arm's length and, although he was an old man, I shook him, not so much as to hurt him, but enough to make him feel that he was not in the hands of a maid of eighteen.
"Do you not fear me?" he cried. "Do you not know that even now I hear the footsteps of the dead?"
"I do not fear you," I said, "but you fear me. Come, Master Elijah Pycroft, who hath been dead and is come to life again, lead me to the room where last night you received the woman called Constance."
He stood still, but I felt his body trembling.
"If you will not," I went on, "I shall begin to threaten. And, mark you, although you pretend to pity me as an ignorant boy, I will perform my threats."
"Ay, and what can you do?" he snarled. "In a minutefrom now the hell-hags which I have summoned from afar will be here, and then—ha, ha!"
"Before they can come I will e'en drag you through the Pycroft woods," I cried; "ay, and I will drag you to Folkestone town, and then, methinks, we shall see gay doings, Master Pycroft."
I meant what I said, for although I desired much to have quiet speech with him, he had angered me by his obstinacy and his threats. I think he felt this, too, for he said sullenly—
"It shall e'en be as you say."
"Then light your lamp again, Master Pycroft, or Father Solomon, whatever you may be pleased to call yourself," I said.
A minute later the lamp shone again, and then he ascended a broad stairway, I keeping close at his heels and ready for anything he might attempt to do. But he walked straight on. I think by this time he also had become interested to know more about the venturesome lad, whom he had not succeeded in frightening, and who had dared to hint that Elijah Pycroft had never died as had been given out to the world. Be that as it may, he uttered neither snarl nor threat as we threaded the long corridor through which he led me, and ere long we had entered the room of which I had taken such note the night before.
A candle still burnt here, which threw a ghostly light on the walls. I detected a strange odour coming from the fireplace, which, as I imagined, arose from the pot I had seen him put on the fire.
I closed the door behind me, and looked quickly around me. My nerves had now settled down to their normal experience, and, although I knew not why, I was enjoying the situation more than I can say. I knew, however, that I had need of all my wits, and that I must use great caution if I would obtain that for which I had set out.
The added light of the lamp to the candle made the room bright, and, noting that curtains hung by the window, I drew them across it whole the old man gazed at me in wonder.
"I wonder that one so old and wise as you does not exercise more caution," I said quietly.
For a minute neither of us did aught but gaze at eachother. He doubtless trying to recall some fact which might give him some clue to my identity and tell him why I had dared to come hither, while I noted his every feature, and wondered at the strange life he led.
He was clothed in a long loose flannel gown which hung from his shoulders to his feet, and which was confined to his waist by a cord. Altogether it was a kind of monkish attire. On his feet were shoes made of cloth, the which enabled him to walk almost noiselessly. He had never been a tall man, and now that age had somewhat diminished his form and his head had sunk low into his shoulders, he appeared what he really was, a shrivelled up old man, though hale and hearty withal.
Presently I thought he listened keenly, as though he expected the approach of some one, and once I thought he seemed on the point of crying out.
"I think it will be well to forget all about the witches and powers of darkness," I said quietly. "I can assure you they will not come. Rather let us talk quietly together."
I longed to know what was in his mind, but his face became blank as I spoke, so that I could read nothing.
"Well, ask your question," he said; "it will not be long now."
"Very well," I replied, "I will ensure our being undisturbed."
I had noticed an old iron bolt in the door, also a stout staple driven into the doorpost. I therefore quietly bolted the door.
"There," I said, "if the witches come it will take them time to get in."
He seemed more than ever discomfited at my coolness. He had been so long undisturbed that he seemed to wonder at any one daring to come to him in such a way.
"Well, what do you want to know?" he said helplessly. Then he added, "But let me tell you this: I know nothing."
"Who is this woman called Constance?" I asked.
At this his face became relieved. "Ha! ha!" he cried. "A lover, eh? He traced the fair Constance hither, and now his love makes him so brave that he dares to meet the ghost of Pycroft. But Constance is not for you, lad. She hath her duties as a wife—eh, a wife!"
"Wife or maid, who is she?"
"How do I know? I who—who——" here he relapsed into silence.
"But you will know before I leave this room," I made answer. "Also, you will tell me other things."
"What other things?"
"Among them, why you live here, and what you hide here."
"And if I will not tell you?"
"There is an old adage that a wizard is ten times worse than a witch, and many a witch hath died during these last twenty years. When King Charles comes to England it will be easy to prove that an old man at Pycroft Hall hath a familiar spirit."
"King Charles!" he cried, and his old eyes sparkled. "Am I afraid of King Charles? I will claim a secret audience with King Charles, and in two short minutes King Charles will obey me like a child."
"Obey you?"
"Ay, obey me. Now, then, do your worst. Fool that I was to be duped by a puling boy like thee, but since I have been a fool, I will e'en pay for it. Thou canst tell thy story—ay, thou canst drag me to Folkestone town. Well, what then? Suppose the ignorant fools which inhabit this countryside cry out for my death? Well, listen—I am Elijah Pycroft—a gentleman, and I can claim to have an ear of the king. And then it will be even as I say. Even King Charles will do the will of old Elijah Pycroft."
He had cast aside all his claims to the supernatural, and had become the clever scheming old man.
"I know what you mean," I replied quietly, "But the thing by which you think to obtain the mastery over the new king doth not exist."
He started to his feet like a man bereft of his senses.
"Doth not exist? What do you mean?"
"Oh, I have seen the mother of Lucy Walters," I replied.
"Thou hast seen——!" he stopped suddenly, his deep-set eyes darting angry glances at me and his body trembling with passion.
"Ay, I have seen her; but it is no use. Do you think that Charles Stuart would ever wed such as she?"
"But he did, he did!" he cried, carried away by his passion. "And what is more, I have proof of it—and——" Again he ceased speaking suddenly. I saw that he had said more than he intended. Now this was the point to which I had aimed to bring him, and I tried to take him further.
"A vain boast," I said. "Where is it, if it exists?"
"Where you will never see it. But stay, tell me who you are? By what means did you obtain knowledge of these things?"
"I have seen a man having a wondrous likeness to Sir Charles Denman," I replied, drawing a bow at a venture.
"Ay, and he sent his pretty Constance to me. He thought to befool me with his ill-thought-out plans—me who learnt wisdom before he was born. Ay, and you saw the pretty Constance too, did you? But she hath told you naught, no—she hath told you naught. How could she? He did not know, she did not know, and you, you do not know."
He laughed like a man in great glee; nevertheless I saw that his eyes were full of fear. Twenty years before he would have been a strong resolute man, whom it would have been difficult to bend, but now age had dimmed his powers and made him incapable of grasping wide issues.
"If you know where it is—tell me," I said, making a false step, as I knew before the words had escaped my lips.
"Ah, now I see why you have come! Ha, ha! What fools men are! You think crowns are played for with plans no weightier than boys' dice, do you? Oh, I know what I know."
"So do I," I said, trying to bluff him.
"And what do you know?" he questioned eagerly.
"Since you are so chary of imparting knowledge, so will I be," I said quietly. "Doubtless you are an old player, Master Pycroft, therefore you know it takes two to make a game. Besides, great enterprises are dangerous when they are taken alone."
"Ah, like Sir Charles, you would go into partnership with me. And I laugh at him, laugh at him! Oh, I have more at stake than you know, young master. Therefore think you I make terms with a nameless boy?"
"I think you will," I replied.
Again he stared at me incredulously. I could see that he was wondering who I was and how much I knew.
"My armour is invulnerable," he cried, "invulnerable, I tell you. You may do your worst, but I can gain the ear of the king, and then—pouf!—what can you do?"
"In two days the king may land at Dover," I replied. "What is to hinder me from going to the king, and saying to him, 'Sire, an old man who lives at Pycroft professes to have proof that you married Lucy Walters: by this means he hopes to have power over you.' What do you think the king will say? What will he do?"
His eyes burned with mad anger, but he saw that I was on guard; he saw, too, that I was young and lithe and strong.
"But you would not do this?" he cried.
"Why not?" I asked quietly.
"But what could he do?" he asked almost helplessly.
"That depends," I replied. "If the thing is true, he will take summary measures with Master Elijah Pycroft. He would know that the proof of such an event would throw the country into civil war. Lucy Walters' son lives at Paris, and if the marriage can be proved he is the next heir to the English throne. But what would that mean? You know, Father Solomon. Besides, think you that James, Duke of York, would be idle? Then let us suppose the thing is not true. Do you think Charles Stuart would take no steps to punish the man who gave birth to such a lie?"
He sat with his chin resting on his chest for some time without speaking. Occasionally he would take a furtive glance at me, and again he seemed to be trying to understand the bearings of what I had said.
"Would you do this?" he asked again presently.
"When one can do a thing, there is always a danger that he will," I replied.
Again he gave me a searching glance, and again he seemed to be trying to see his way through a difficulty.
"Tell me what interest you have in all this?" he said presently.
"Oh, I am a young blood on the look-out for adventures," I replied.
He saw that I had not answered him fully, and it was not difficult to believe that he suspected me of having an interest in the matter which I had not revealed to him. After all, a man would not come to him in such a way as I had come without sufficient reason, and it was not likely that he would reveal to me a valuable secret simply because I had asked for it. On the other hand, he had seen that I was not to be frightened easily, nor to be put off with a weak excuse. I had done what others had not dared to do. I had entered a house of evil omen at a time when others would not dare to approach it. For although through my father's training I had been able to make light of the stories I had heard, there can be no doubt that tales such as I have told about Pycroft were believed by both gentle and simple alike. More than one house in England was tenantless at this time because of its ill fame, and tales of the appearances of the departed dead were believed in by both clergy and people alike. Such Catholic priests as were in England taught people to believe in such things, while even the Puritan and Presbyterian clergy gave credence to belief in the power of the devil and his emissaries. For years Pycroft Hall had been neglected and avoided; and thus it was no light matter that I had dared to try and penetrate its secrets, and I doubt not that the old man weighed these matters well, as he furtively glanced at me from beneath his overhanging brows and shaggy eyebrows.
At last he seemed to have made up his mind to something. He rose suddenly to his feet, gazed furtively around the room as if he even suspected that some one might be near, and then came up close to me.
"Let us understand each other, young master," he said.
"That is well," I replied, as I waited for him to proceed.
"I am not sure," he said, "that you are not a youth worth considering. I am not sure, I say. There are not six people in England who know my secret, not one who knows it fully; but among those who do there is not one that I would go hand in glove with. But you may be of a different order. You may be, but I have not made up my mind. It may be," and he looked furtively around him again, "it may be that I shall make short work of you, and that your father and mother, if you possess them, may have to mourn the untimely loss of a promising son."
I laughed quietly, as though I were amused, but as I did so I had a sense of uneasiness as to what was in his mind.
"Oh, you laugh, do you?" he snarled; "but wait a little, young master, and you will see that you have nothing to laugh at. Not that you are not a youth of courage. I do not deny that. Nay, more: for one so young you have some sense. I saw that at the start, else you would not be alive now."
Again I laughed; partly because the laugh seemed natural, and partly because I was anxious to impress him with the fact that I had no fear of him.
"I tell you the truth," he cried angrily, "and I bid you not to provoke me too far, for I am somewhat short of temper. There is more than one who has dared to brave me here, and have never been heard of again. What, you defy me! Look. If I put this handful of dust," and he took a small packet from a drawer which contained perhaps an ounce of brown-coloured powder, "I say, if I put thishandful of dust in that pot, you would in three minutes be asleep—asleep, ay, with a sleep like unto death. And then what would your swords and pistols avail, my young bantam?"
"Methinks if I fell asleep so would you," I replied, "so we should sleep together, Father Solomon, and perchance I might awake as soon as you."
"But think you that I have not other potions, potions which would resist the action of the fumes which would arise from the pot?"
"Possibly; but let me tell you this, Father Solomon: before the sleep mastered me I would give good account of you."
I spoke like a man deadly in earnest, as in truth I was, for his words had made me feel that my position might be more serious than I had imagined. My earnestness impressed him too, for he turned somewhat hurriedly to me and said—
"Have I not said that you may be a youth worth considering? But, look you, before we go further into this matter I must know with assurance how we stand. For, let me tell you this: if you play the game which is in your mind it will not be for boys' stakes. Neither will it be a game easy to play."
At this I was silent, for I did not wish to use a word which might give him the mastery over me.
"And so, young master, before I tell you the things you are longing to know, I must first know who you are, how you came to know of me, how you fell in with Lucy Walters' mother, and how much you know of the matter which brings you here."
"If I told you these things you would be but little wiser," I replied; "besides, I may not tell them till I know who you are, and whether it is worth my while."
"How old are you?"
"But twenty-three."
"You might be older than that," and I saw a twinkle in his eye. "Let me speak plainly, young master. It is long since I met a youth of twenty-three with so much sense."
There was so much of wheedling in his voice that I wasput on my guard again. What he had failed to do by threats he would accomplish by flattery.
"One need not be young to be a fool," I replied.
He darted another angry glance at me, and then seemed on the point of uttering a savage threat. But he mastered this desire, and with a shrug of his shoulders he said—
"Bah! we are playing at see-saw. Let me understand. You came to me with a desire to know certain things. You would know first more of the woman whom you name Constance, then you would know more of the man who sent her here. That springs from young blood and a boy's heart. But that is not all. There is the man's brain as well as the boy's heart to be considered. Let me think of that. You, like others, have heard the story of the king's marriage, but, unlike others, you have been able to locate the place where the secret is kept. You desire to possess it. Why? Because, like a thousand others, you desire to have power over the king. How came you to find out this place? What is the purpose you have in your mind? You will not tell me. Nevertheless I shall find out. What is your name? Well, for the present one name will do as well as another. So far so good. Now, then, for the other side. Here am I. Who am I? Ah, who knows? Elijah Pycroft once lived here. Some say he died and was buried. But was he? If he was, who am I? Am I Elijah Pycroft come to life again? For years this old house hath been shunned as though it were, the house of pestilence. Why? Witches' revels are held here, dark deeds are done here. Spirits of darkness haunt this place. But then men have come here through the day and found nought. What then becomes of the old man who haunts it through the night? Who is he? Who is he? Ha, ha! Thou art a bold youth to come here. But, come, let us to business. Thou art a brave youth, and thou art not without a smattering of wit. Still thou art but a boy with a boy's rattlepate."
He seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me during the latter part of his soliloquy. Evidently he was simply thinking aloud, and trying to understand our relations more clearly.
"Now, then," he went on presently, "you want me togive you certain information, and you want to put your hand upon that which might change the history of the nation. I have given you credit for some wit, young master, but do you think I am such a fool as to tell all this to a nameless boy, because he dared to break in upon my privacy?"
"Well, what would you, Master Pycroft?" said I, for I saw that he had sense on his side. If a bargain was to be made it could not be all on one side. My work was to learn all I could from him, without placing my future in his power.
"I would know this. First, your name and history. Second, the reason which led you to come hither. And third—nay, that is all. Answer me those fully, and you will have answered all I wish to know."
"And if I do?" I responded. "What shall I gain?"
"That for which you have come," he replied eagerly.
"How do I know? Suppose I tell you what you ask, and you have sucked the orange dry—what then? Can I be sure you will tell me what I want to know? The confidence must be mutual, Master Pycroft."
"You have called me by name. Therefore what is there to tell you further?"
"How do I know that you are Master Pycroft? How do I know that you are not some other man, one perhaps a thousand times more dangerous?"
A ghastly pallor came over his face as I spoke. For the first time I had made him fear me. Rightly or wrongly, it came to me that he was not Elijah Pycroft at all, but a man who greatly feared his name becoming known.
"If I am to tell you who I am, tell me who you are," I replied. "If I am to tell you how I was led to believe that you have in your possession the king's marriage contract, you must tell me how you got hold of it. If I am to tell you how I learnt to know anything about the woman you call Constance, you must tell me what you know of her, ay, and the reason why the man believed to be Sir Charles Denman hath such power over her."
"And if I will not?"
"Then several courses are open to me. You have told me I have some wit. Well, I can use that wit. I canfind out who the man is who comes to this room during the night, while during the day he is not to be found here."
"Who's to tell you?"
"Perhaps Father Rousseau, who hath a little church at Boulogne," I made answer.
Again the ashy pallor passed across his face, and I saw him tremble.
"He—he doth not know a word of English—that is—how do you know there is such a man?"
I know he would have given much not to have spoken these words, but they had escaped him while under the influence of the words I had spoken.
"Enough to say that I do know," I replied, "and moreover, I am not the only Englishman who can speak the French tongue."
He saw he had taken the wrong road, and he sought to retrace his steps.
"Let us understand each other," he repeated.
"Methinks we are understanding each other with great haste," I replied. "Mark you, I wish to use no harsh methods, otherwise I could easily make many things known to King Charles when he lands at Dover."
"And yet you speak angrily," he cried. "I am an old man, and cannot bear to have an enmity towards any man. I would live peaceably. Besides, my heart goes out to you. Let us act as friends. But I cannot tell you what you want to know without knowing who you are."
"I will tell you this," I replied, "I seek not to harm you. You have a secret; that I know, and I can see my way to finding out that secret."
"But you will not—you must not!"
There was terror in his voice, terror in his eyes, as he spoke.
"Look, look; we will act together. I saw you were a youth of courage and wit the first moment I cast my eyes on you. You are of gentle blood, too. You would not break a promise—that I know. You would stand by a bargain, too. Oh, you would, I know you would. Would you not?"
"If I make a bargain I will stand by it," I replied. "If I make a promise I will keep it."
"Even in the face of death?" he replied.
"A gentleman doth not break a promise because of the fear of death," I answered. "He will keep to it under all circumstances, unless the man to whom he hath made it hath forfeited his right to have the promise kept."
"Ah, then, look here, look at me, straight in the eyes—that's it! If I tell you what you wish to know you will promise me this. First, you will not seek to discover anything more about me. You understand that? You will not try and find out who I am, where I spend my days or my nights. You will say nothing about me to man, woman, nor child. If you hear aught at any time or at any place of the old man who hath been seen under strange circumstances at Pycroft, you will say nought, nor show by sign of any sort that you have ever heard or seen him."
"Well, go on," I replied, as he kept his eyes on me, and waited as if for an answer, "Tell me the other things you wish me to promise."
"You must also promise me that whatever advantage can be gained by what I shall tell you shall be shared by me. Look you, I have the marriage contract—that is, I know where it is. It is all in order. It has the signatures of Charles Stuart, of—of—well, the woman who was called Lucy Walters, and that of the priest whose name you mentioned. I know where it is, and besides me there is no other who knows it. You must not ask how I obtained it. But I know. I know where I put it. It is in a safe place. But if I tell you, you must be my friend. In the time to come I shall need a friend such as you, with a quick brain and a strong arm. You know French, you say?"
"Yes, I know it enough to speak, and to understand the speech of others."
"That is well. You will promise these two things?"
"Let us be clear," I made answer, for I knew that he had not been speaking idle words. I could see by the way his hands trembled, and by the eager gleam in his eyes, that he was deeply in earnest. "You wish me to promise not to learn the secret of your life, to seek to know nothing more about you than I know now?"
"Yes, yes. Nothing, nothing. That is vital."
"And, second, you wish me to promise that whateveradvantage may be gained by what I shall find out shall be shared by you?"
"Yes, you state it clearly."
"The first I might promise, but not the second."
"Why?"
"Because you could not share in that which I desire. I desire neither favour nor position at the hands of the king—only justice. This could not affect you. Stay! if I gain my desire, you should never want a home or a friend."
"Neither favour nor position!" he said like a man in astonishment. "A secret like that, and demand neither riches nor honour!"
"Neither," I replied.
"Then what would you do with your power?"
"Justice," I replied.
"You would seek to place the—the boy on the throne?"
"If he is the king's lawful son, yes, when his father dies."
He grasped my hand eagerly.
"But you would do nothing without consulting me first. You must promise that."
"But I might not abide by your counsels."
"Oh, I fear not that. If you come to me before you take action—all will be well. You will see the wisdom of my words."
"Yes, I would promise that," I said slowly, for the full meaning of what I was saying was not clear to me.
"That is well—that is well!"
He spoke like a man from whose shoulders a burden had rolled, and I judged that he was mightily pleased.
"But remember," I said, "in return you promise to tell me what you know of the woman Constance who came to you here last night, and you also promise to place in my hands the marriage contract of the king with Lucy Walters."
"That is, I will take you to the place where it is. I will share with you this secret. And in return you will seek to do justice, justice! And you will do nothing without consulting me. You will also be my friend, and will seek to shelter me. And you are a gentleman. You speak only the truth, and you keep your promises."
The whole question had been settled so easily that I wondered at my good fortune. I had told the man nothing, and yet he had promised to give me the information I coveted. In truth, so easily was my work accomplished that I feared lest I had pledged myself more fully than I realized. And yet all seemed straightforward. I had touched the old man's fear, and he had yielded. His great dread was that I should discover his secret, the secret of his name and identity. Well, what were his name and identity to me? Then I had promised to befriend him. That was more serious. It might be that in making this promise I had undertaken more than I knew. And yet all might be simple. I believed that he was afraid to make use of the secret he guarded, and that he was eager to obtain the services of some one like myself. Besides, nothing could be obtained without risk, and I had made my promise.
He moved the pot from the fire, and then threw some dry wood upon the smouldering embers.
"The night is cold, although summer is approaching fast," he said. "Besides, it is well for us to be warm and comfortable. You will drink wine with me. No? Ah, you fear. You are cautious for one so young, but it is well. We shall need caution as well as courage. There, the fire flames. Draw up that chair, good youth, and let us talk in a friendly way. Our skirmish is over, and we have arranged a truce. Nay, more than that, we have agreed to fight on the same side, and I am content. Do you know that for three days following I have dreamt that I shall have a youth, brave and strong and wise, like you, who shall be my friend? Well, I took every precaution before taking you into my confidence, but now I believe you are the fulfilment of my dream. But it will be easier for us to talk if we each have a name. You can call me Father Solomon; what may I call you?"
"You may call me Master Roland," I made answer.
"Master Roland. Ah, it sounds well. It brings to me memories of great courage, great wisdom, and great fidelity. Master Roland; but Master Roland what?"
"That is enough. Master Roland and nothing else."
"Ah, very good. A sagacious youth. Ha, ha!"
His tone had changed. He evidently desired to befriends; he even regarded me with an air that was almost affectionate. I could have sworn that my presence was in accord with his strongest desires.
He sat on one side of the fire, and I on the other—he with his head sunk between his shoulders, and his long beard almost resting on his knees; I alert and watchful, for as yet I had no confidence in him. Around the walls of the room were strange mystic charts, while on the table were grinning skulls and much peculiar apparatus, of the meaning of which I knew nothing.
"I will e'en drink some water of life," he said, filling a goblet from a bottle which stood on a shelf. "Ah, it warms my blood and cheers my brains! That is well. Now I will tell you the things you desire to know."
He gave me a keen furtive glance as he spoke, but I simply nodded my head and waited for him to proceed.
"You would know more of the fair Constance," he said. "That is natural. She is fair of face, and hath a sweet voice; but, Master Roland, take my advice and seek not her company. You cannot help her. She is in danger of her life, and a price is set upon her head!"
"What hath she done?" I asked.
"Many things. She is the daughter of Master John Leslie, who is the bosom friend of Master Hugh Peters, who was friend and chaplain of Oliver Cromwell. Master John Leslie hated the late king more than any man in the kingdom, and took a principal part in the beheading of Charles. He is a great Independent, Master Roland, and he gave his daughter in marriage to Sir Charles Denman, a man old enough to be her father, but who is also a great Independent, and who fears as much as he hates the thought of the coming of Charles II."
He hesitated here, and looked towards me as if he expected me to speak, but I held my peace, for I knew he was only at the beginning of his story.
"Do you not know the rest?" he asked.
"No," I replied, "I know nothing."
He heaved a sigh like one well satisfied. "Ah, thou art a simple youth, after all," he said; "thou knowest nought of what hath been taking place."
"Well, tell me," I said sharply, for I grew impatient at his slowness.
"Oh yes, I will tell thee. It is a part of the bargain, and I will tell thee. When it was known that General Monk seemed to favour the coming of the new king, Master Leslie, Sir Charles Denman, and his wife conceived a scheme for the murdering of Monk. They believed they would be doing good service. They knew that if Charles came back, in spite of all the promises he might make, it would go hard with those who took part in the death of the new king's father. The question was, who was to do the deed? The presence of Master Leslie or Sir Charles Denman, men known to hate the royalty, would destroy any chance of success. So they settled upon the wife of Sir Charles, whose person was unknown either to Monk or his retainers. Well, the plan was carried out, Master Roland; that is, the attempt was made. The woman, never dreaming of disobeying her husband and also mad with fear as to what should take place if Charles Stuart came back, attempted the deed. If Monk was killed, Lambert would have power—you follow, Master Roland? Oh, it was not a bad plan, and had it succeeded—well, methinks there would not be at this moment a gaping crowd waiting to welcome another Stuart. But it did not succeed—that is, not fully. Mark you, she did succeed in reaching the room where Monk lay asleep. She stabbed young James Carew, who acted as Monk's secretary, ay, and so badly that he hath not yet recovered; but Monk awoke before she was able to harm him much. Oh, but she made a desperate fight. She wounded Monk in the arm, and fled. Moreover, so cleverly had she arranged everything that she managed to escape, and although every attempt hath been made, she hath not yet been captured."
"But how dare she ride abroad?" I cried.
"That woman would dare anything," cried the old man. "Besides, Monk described a woman different from the beautiful Constance. You see, she had taken steps to alter her appearance before she attempted the deed. Nevertheless, the thing hath been traced to her. Master John Leslie is even now in disgrace, while spies be everywheretrying to track down Sir Charles Denman and his wife. Not that guilt hath been proved against Sir Charles on that count, nevertheless his life is not worth ten groats."
"But how dare he ride to theBarley Sheafwhile it was yet daylight?" I cried. "I saw him myself."
"Sir Charles hath many friends; besides, what kind of man did you see?"
"A tall strong man with an iron-grey beard and a grey ashen countenance; one who speaks with a rough harsh voice."
"Sir Charles hath a yellow beard, brown hair, and hath a sweet mellow voice," he replied. "Ay, but he is cleverer than any play-actor in London. Besides, he knows that just now the search is somewhat lax, seeing that every one is at Dover waiting to welcome the new King."
"Then—then——"
"Ah, more I may not tell you. Ay, and seek to know no more, Master Roland. The chase cannot last long: she will be taken, and then God have mercy on her!"
"And Sir Charles?"
A cloud crossed his face, and that harsh, cruel look which I had seen in his eyes when first we met came back.
"Who knows?" he snarled. "Who knows, if he——but enough of that, Master Roland. There is something of more importance. There is that for which you came hither; your fate, and perchance mine, depend on that."
"You want the king's marriage contract," he said presently; "you desire the proof that Charles Stuart was married to Lucy Walters, and thus be able to prove that the boy who is now with the king's mother is the next heir to the English throne?"
I nodded my head in the affirmative, all the time watching the old man's eyes, into which a cunning sinister expression had come.
"It is a great thing, a great thing," he cackled. "Fancy, the Duke of York would give his fingers to get hold of it. And yet only you and I have the secret of it."
"Only you at present," I urged.
"Ah, yes, only I, only I; but I need you, and you shall know. Ha! ha!" and he laughed like a man tickled. "But we must bide our time," he continued presently.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"It is no use removing it from its present hiding-place until the proper time," he said. "Suppose you had it in your hand now. What would you do with it? Would you go to the king, and say, 'Look, here is the marriage contract between you and Lucy Walters'? Such would be the act of a fool. And you are not a fool—no, you are not a fool!"
"But I must know where it is," I cried, "and I must be assured that the thing is not a hoax."
"Ay, that you shall," he replied; "come with me."
He rose, took a candle in his hand, and made his way towards the door.
"Whither?" I asked.
"To the hiding-place," was his answer, and he gazed anxiously around the room.
Even in those days I possessed a fair amount of caution, and thus, while I unbolted the door, I kept close to him, so that at no moment should he be able to betray me.
Outside the door, he stopped and listened. Even in that lonely place and at that awesome hour, he seemed apprehensive lest some one should spy upon our actions. But he had no need to fear. All was silent as death. The house was empty, and every sound that we made echoed and re-echoed through the empty chambers.
"All is well," he said as if to himself, and then he led the way down a flight of stairs which I had not hitherto noticed. Presently we came to a dark cellar, which I saw was hewn out of the rock. We were now among the foundations of the house, and my heart beat fast at the thought that I was near placing my hand upon the precious document, which my father declared would make my fortune.
"Who could find us here, Master Roland?" he cackled again; "not one in fifty. But Old Solomon is wise, and he does not live at Pycroft Hall for nought."
Whereupon he held the candle close to the floor, as if searching for something.
"Do you see anything?" he asked.
"Nothing," I replied.
"Think you there is aught beneath here?"
"Beneath here? No, we are already in the bowels of the earth."
"Ah, that is good!" and again he cackled like a man well pleased with himself.
Presently I saw him pressing the ground hard with his heel, and then, as if by magic, there opened close by my feet a dark aperture.
"Descend," he cried, "descend!"
"We will go together, Father Solomon," I made answer.
"Ah, you do not trust me. A good youth, a cautious youth."
Still holding the candle in one hand, he came close to the dark hole in the ground, from which came a mustyill-smelling air, and then he put his left foot into the hole, while I held his right arm.
"That is well," he said, and then I saw the rungs of a ladder.
One, two, three, four steps he went down, until I was almost dragged into the darkness in my endeavour to hold him fast.
"Come, come, Master Roland; but mind, it needs a brave heart."
I confess it here, I hesitated before following. How it may appear to those who read this I know not, but at that moment I seemed to be in a ghastly dream. Everything had become unreal to me save the shadow of a great terror. The old man, with his head sunk between his shoulders, was such a creature as only comes to one in a nightmare; the king's marriage contract existed only in the wild imaginings of foolish men. A thousand dangers suggested themselves, nameless dangers, and therefore all the more terrible, and try as I might I could not keep from trembling.
"Afraid, Master Roland, eh? Ay, and well thou mayst be, for this hole is full of lost spirits. Hark! do you not hear them?"
In the excited state of my imagination I fancied I heard distant wails, and I felt my blood run cold.
"And yet only yesternight the fair Constance took this road, and she was not afraid."
He said this tauntingly, which caused anger to take the place of fear. I still held his right arm, the hand of which grasped one of the staves of the ladder, and his words made my grasp the tighter.
"I will come with you, Father Solomon," I said; "but mind, if you betray me, I will send you to hell with all your sins upon your head."
With that I placed my foot upon the ladder, but in so doing I had to relax my hold upon him. I heard him cackling to himself while he went farther and still farther into the darkness.
I had not descended more than six steps before I heard a noise above me, and then I knew that the trap door which had lifted was closed again, and that in all probability thesecret of its opening was only known to the man whose breath could be distinctly heard just beneath me.
As may be imagined, I lost no time in going down the ladder, and the moment my feet touched the ground I grasped the old man's arm again.
"Ha, ha!" he laughed. "This is rare sport, eh? Do you know where you are? Twill be a fine tale to tell Charles. Ten fathoms underneath the foundations of Pycroft Hall, with Father Solomon! Do you think you'll ever see daylight again, Master Roland?"
"If I do not you will not," I replied; and then I looked around me and found myself in a narrow tunnel, which perchance was three feet wide and high enough for a man of short stature to stand upright.
"Good boy, courageous boy, well he deserves to get what he seeks! But oh, he will see rare sport before he puts his hand upon the king's marriage contract."
"Where is it?" I asked, still holding his right arm.
"I must be free, and you must follow me."
"No," I replied. "Whither you go I will go. And I shall not loose my hold upon you till I see daylight."
He looked at me savagely, and lifted his left hand, in which he held a candlestick, as if to strike me. Then the angry looked passed away, and I saw the cunning leer come in his eyes again.
"A good boy, a brave boy," he said coaxingly. "Ah, we are friends. I cannot do without him, neither can he do without me. Youth and age, strength and wisdom together, what can withstand it?"
He led the way along the tunnel, which I followed, still holding him fast. How far we went I could not calculate, for although the time seemed long, it might only in reality have been short. At length, however, we came to a broad place, such as I have been told miners make underground when digging for mineral.
"The time and the place, Master Roland," he said; "now let us search."
He held up the candle, and I saw that all around me were dark roads leading from the cavern where we stood. Whither they went I knew not. I seemed like a man standing on a place where many cross roads met, only wewere in the bowels of the earth, and the roads seemed to lead only into greater darkness.
"A grand place to bury a secret, eh? Anything would be safe here, eh? But there is nothing hidden that shall not be revealed. There is nothing done in silence but shall be proclaimed on the housetops."
He placed the candle in my hand, and then began to peer cautiously around the sides of the cavern.
"Ah!" he said at length. "You wanted to see, and you shall see. Lucy married Prince Charles—no, King Charles—and Lucy gave the contract to the priest, and the priest gave it to old Father Solomon, and old Solomon waited—waited till his dream should be fulfilled. Do you know this place, Master Roland? Once upon a time miners digged here for gold. Oh, it was ages ago. Whoever dreamed of gold being found five miles from Folkestone? They dug, and dug, and dug! They are dead, but their work lives. Fancy those old men digging here ages ago. But they left a grand hiding-place. Only one man knows the secret of these caverns. I, old Solomon. The man who is left alone here never sees the light again. Ha, ha! But it is a fine place to die!"
Presently he seemed to have discovered the place he sought, and then he took the candle from my hand. I saw a dark hole in the side of the cavern, into which he put his hand, and from which he drew a black box.
"You wanted to see it, and you shall see it," he said. Then he pressed a spring in the box, and the lid flew open.
"Read! Read!" he cried.
I saw a piece of parchment which was emblazoned with a rude tracing of the Lion and the Unicorn. This he took, and with trembling fingers unfolded it.
"Read! Read!" he cried again.
It was written in French, but in such a crude fashion as to make it difficult to read. But I saw these words—"Marriage Contract between Charles Stuart, King of England and Scotland, and Lucy Walters, of Ros Martat, in the County of Pembroke, Wales, daughter of Richard Walters." After this there were many lines which seemed to be meaningless, but at the bottom of the page I saw writing by other hands. I saw the words—
"Charles Stuart, By the Grace of God King of England and Scotland.
"Lucy Walters.
"Pierre Rousseau.
"François Abelard."
I saw, too, that Pierre Rousseau was stated to be a priest of the Roman Catholic Church who had performed the sacrament of marriage, and that François Abelard, a brother of the Benedictine Order, had witnessed thereto.
"There, you have seen it; now let me put it away."
"No," I replied, "let me read it again; I would commit the writing to memory."
He paid no heed to me, however, and before I well knew what he was doing he had struck the paper from my hands. The box closed with a snap, and he placed it in its hiding-place again.
"You have seen," he cried. "Oh, it is rare fun. Now, then, you must swear to what I dictate, or you will never again see the light of the sun."
"Swear what?" I cried, for I felt angry with myself for having allowed him to put the thing back into its hiding-place.
"You must swear that you will obey me in all that appertains to this."
"That was not in our bargain," I cried.
"But it must be," he cried. "Swear, or you die."
"No," I said, "I will not. And do not think to frighten me. I will keep to my bargain faithfully, but if you in aught do fail on your part, then will I come hither alone, and I will act without you."
"Ah!" he cried, and there was a fearsome look in his eyes. "You defy me, eh?"
"Yes, I defy you!" I cried, for the sight of the parchment had set my blood on fire.
We had moved away a few steps from the place where he had put the black box, but I kept my eye on the spot, so that I might know it again.
"Ah, we must be friends," he said wheedlingly. "Come, my son, I have more to tell you."
I followed him a few steps, and then again I looked back over my shoulder to mark the place where theprecious document was hidden; but this, as will be seen, led to my undoing, for no sooner did he note my action than with a sudden wrench he leapt from me, and blowing out the candle he left me in utter darkness.
I stretched out my hands to grasp him, but he was gone. I stopped and listened to catch the sound of his retreating footsteps, but could hear nothing to guide me, for the place seemed to be full of the sound of footsteps, now coming from one direction, and now from another. Moreover, he wore cloth-soled shoes, which made but little noise, so that I was utterly unable to locate him. Presently I thought I heard him cackling, as I had heard him more than once before when he was well pleased with himself. Without an instant's delay I rushed to the spot from whence I thought the sound came, but only to strike my head with a terrible thud against the rocky side of the cavern.
What happened after that I do not know. I have a vague remembrance of falling to the ground, and then rising and staggering away in the darkness, but whether this was only fancy or fact it is not for me to say, seeing that nothing was clear to me.
Presently, when I awoke to consciousness, I found myself lying in the darkness. Not a ray of light came to me anywhere, neither did I possess any means of kindling one. My head ached, and my whole body was racked with pain. How long I had lain there I knew not, neither was I able to calculate. All I knew was that I was in as sad a plight as any man could be. But I determined not to give up hope. If there was a way into this place there must also be a way out, and so I set to work to try and find out my whereabouts. I was not long before I touched the side of the cavern, close to which I groped until I came to an opening.
"This will lead back to the house," I reflected, and buoyed up with this hope, and keeping my hand by the side of the tunnel, I followed its windings for some distance, only to come to a sudden stop, for I found that the place ended here. I therefore returned again, determining to enter each level in turn until I should again find my way back to the man whose wits had been keener than my own.
The second tunnel was shorter than the first, and ended in the same way, so again I returned to the large cavern, and keeping ever to the right hand, so as not to enter any one of them more than once, I again groped along in the darkness.